


I Could Never Be (The Right Kind of Girl for You)

by kinetikatrue



Category: Men's Hockey RPF, Washington Capitals RPF
Genre: Casual Sex, First time with same sex partner, Getting Drunk Or High To Justify Behavior They Wanted To Do Anyway, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex Performed Over Clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28910106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinetikatrue/pseuds/kinetikatrue
Summary: On holiday in Spain, Nicky's not expecting to do much more than take in the sights - and the nightlife - when he runs into this guy, andthingshappen. Can he have just this one weekend?
Relationships: Nicklas Backstrom/Alexander Ovechkin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	I Could Never Be (The Right Kind of Girl for You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plastics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastics/gifts).



> Title from White Town - Your Woman

_Skiiiiit_. Nicky really should stop staring - and he will, any minute now, but. Anybody would be staring, okay? Right across from him, there's a fucking built guy standing by the railing at the edge of the promenade. And he's wearing a pair of tiny jean shorts. They're cut off so high on his thighs they're nearly short enough to be swimming briefs. And Nicky would almost think they were, made of nylon and spandex just printed to look like denim - he's seen weirder on this holiday alone - except he can see the fraying at the edges and the white cotton of the pockets sticking out past them. So they're probably cut-off jeans, not designer swimwear - and from the looks of it, a pair the guy wore in until they fit him perfectly, then hacked the legs off once they were more hole than fabric.

The denim that's left doesn't really seem all that sturdy, either, but it's at least holding it together enough to hug the guy's hips and strain across the impressive bulge of his dick - and only just keep his balls from making a break for it, by the looks of it.

It's also barely managing to contain the curve of his muscular arse and massive, tanned thighs with their sprinkling of dark hair. And Nicky feels like he should think it looks ridiculous, the tiny, sexy pair of acid wash short-shorts framing the massive thighs, plus the crop-top that reveals the slight softness of the guy's belly and the trail of dark hair leading down into the shorts. And that's not even getting into his broad shoulders and strong arms. Instead, he's about ready to swallow his tongue with how hot it is, staring across the promenade, just completely stuck on the sight of the shorts molding themselves to every inch of thick muscle.

They're probably tight enough even to not really leave room for underwear, and Nicky thinks, if, somehow, he got the chance to unzip them and part their flies, the guy's cock would be right there, ready to spring free, and he could drop to his knees and swallow it down - he'd probably choke on it some, get spit everywhere, feeling the girth of it stretch his mouth.

He thinks he'd like it - if he did that kind of thing. If guys weren't just something he wanked to, but something he could try out for real. If that were an option for him.

Right now, he's grateful for his sunglasses and the loose cut of his swim-shorts, letting him look his fill without being obvious about it - and hide the effects. He's seventeen-nearly-eighteen, past the point of getting hard-ons over anything and nothing - thank fuck - but still more horny than he knows what to do with sometimes. So a few sexy postcards from the Spanish coast to get him through the winter, well, they'll be plenty welcome when he can't allow himself to see what's all around him. Because that's the deal when it comes to hockey. And anyway, he's never going to see this guy again.

Not like the guy - who's tipping his head back to laugh, long and loud, at something one of his friends said, and then, almost immediately responding, talking with his hands as much as he is with his mouth - will ever have reason to notice Nicky, if he hasn't already. Particularly when Nicky's due back at the hotel in an hour, so he can get cleaned up and go to dinner with his guys. This is it; the show's about to be over.

***

If Nicky had had his way, they would've gone to Ibiza - and he would have spent the week gorging himself on everything the EDM scene had to offer. Nicky, obviously, had not had his way. The other guys had told him firmly that since they didn't much care what music was playing in the clubs at night as long as there were girls dancing to it, they'd rather go somewhere they'd get more everything else for their money. So Nicky had given up on VIP DJ sets and curated trance nights for now, while Kris joked that 'once Nicky'd been drafted and started making NHL money' Kris wouldn't say no to him picking Ibiza then.

And, okay, Nicky knows he's good, that he's been scouted - people take notice when you play for the national team and are the only member of the U20 team called up to play on your club's main team that season - but nothing's guaranteed, even if he does get drafted; going on holiday to Ibiza as often as he likes means he has to go high, and he has to stick - and there can't be any _questions_.

For now, the best he's gonna get is a knock-off 'white party' (so far only slightly improved by alcohol). He'd started the evening doing shots of this purple-red liqueur that tasted of plums and coffee and anise and herbs with his boys - before they abandoned him in favor of finding girls looking for the same thing they are - and he's been alternating vodkas and vodka-tonics every few songs ever since. It's mostly 'club mixes' of pop songs, of course, picked more for having beats that keep people dancing and the kind of lyrics it's easy to shout while drunk. But he's not drunk - a little buzzed, maybe, but not properly drunk - so he's not dancing.

Mostly, he's been holding up one bit of wall or railing or another with his drink in hand, watching the kaleidoscopic mass of writhing white clothing bathed in ever-changing patterns of blacklight and neon, the people inside washed out in the dark.

So, of course, he's not expecting it when he sees The Guy again, looming up out of the crowd like a sexy eurotrash phantom. Or maybe he should say: this time, the guy saw him and decided to do something about it. He really likes what he sees, if the way he just dances up, smiling wide and excited, is anything to go by. Or maybe he's just that friendly -

"Hola! Hey! Ello!," he says, and he's practically shouting to be heard over the music, but it seems entirely possible he might also just be that loud - and enthusiastic - in general.

"Hej," Nicky says, saluting The Guy with his glass while getting a better look at him from the front. Turns out that up close and personal he's all ears like jughandles, dark fringe plastered to his forehead with sweat, deep blue eyes, and a plump bottom lip - that makes Nicky think things he shouldn't. 

And even though he's changed clothes for the white party - into a sleeveless white mesh top with some kind of glow in the dark logo on it, low-slung acid-wash jeans, and white sneakers - Nicky's sure it's The Guy. The way his thighs strain against the denim covering them (which is also doing nice things for his junk), and those arms, and the strip of stomach showing between the waistband of his underwear and the bottom of his mesh top - plus the dark hair curling damply over his collar - all of it matches up to Nicky's memories of the promenade. He's suddenly very glad for the cover of the darkened club - and the, as always, looser cut of his shorts.

Particularly when The Guy steps in even closer, puts one big hand on Nicky's bicep, presses the other to his chest, and says, "Alex." Nicky's barely managed to say his own name when The Guy - Alex - starts tugging on him, saying, "Come, Nicky. _Bailamos_ ," in a cheesy accent, right along with the song that's been swelling up around them the entire time. 

Nicky just manages to toss back the last of his vodka and set down the glass before Alex actually drags him out onto the dance floor. And maybe it's just the vodka hitting, but he can't say he minds. Alex is honestly a pretty terrible dancer, it turns out - but then, Nicky's much the same - and anyway, Alex is enthusiastic enough to make up for both of them. And that enthusiasm, combined with Alex's terrible attempts at shaking his hips, it does things to Nicky.

Every time Alex dances up to Nicky and shouts, "Bailamos!" so Nicky can feel the word reverberating through him, well, it just gets worse.

They're not dancing together the way the couples are, of course - mostly girls with guys, but there are pairs of girls and pairs of guys, too, like there've been every other time he's gone to a club this holiday - just together like a group of friends. Except for how there are only two of them. And they'd never actually met before Alex walked up to Nicky's piece of wall and introduced himself.

And dragged Nicky out to dance, because he's a friendly guy who thought Nicky should be having more fun? Which, he has to admit (privately), he is.

There are servers with trays of shots - in a rainbow of unnatural colors - who circulate through the crowd periodically, keeping their trays balanced above the heads of the dancers in a way Nicky can't even imagine. The next time one of them passes by, Alex flags her down, produces enough cash to pay for shots for both of them, and accepts a red one for himself and a blue one for Nicky. Somehow, giving Nicky his ends up involving Alex slinging an arm around him and tugging him up against Alex's side in a way that involves way more of his armpit than it logically physically should.

It's an unfortunate fact of Nicky's life that sweaty guys do it for him when he allows them to, and the way Alex's armpit smells, of clean sweat and vodka and some kind of musky scent (deodorant? aftershave? both?), combined with how Nicky's ended up pressed up against the length of his muscular everything, well, _skiiiit_. He cheerses vaguely in Alex's direction, tips his head back, and squeezes his shot out of its little plastic cup and down his throat - it's fake berry flavored jelly - and looks up in time to meet Alex's eyes as he does his red one. The way Alex is looking at him...

Nicky does clean up pretty well, okay, but he usually doesn't get that kind of reaction, particularly not when he's not so much cleaned up as covered in sweat. And that makes him think dangerous things. Like how, even if tonight probably still isn't going anywhere he didn't expect it to, well, maybe it could - it shouldn't, but...it could. And that's an especially dangerous thought when Alex shows no signs of letting him go back to holding up the walls. So he probably shouldn't - but he's going to, anyway - turn to Alex and say, "Uno mas?"

Alex nods and somehow magics up another girl with a tray of shots - and after he's paid for another pair of them, tucks one in between his neck and his shoulder and says, "Nicky," like obviously Nicky should understand what he's supposed to do.

Doing a jelly shot like a body shot is a dumb idea, but Nicky is apparently here for all the dumb ideas tonight, because he goes for it, angling his head in to get suction on the little cup, and is rewarded with another hit of Alex's musky sweat plus a mouthful of boozy fake cherry jelly. It's definitely not the worst. So he gets the other little cup of jelly into position and lets Alex go to town.

And if he hadn't been into this already, well, feeling Alex's hair brushing against his cheek, like he could be going in for a love-bite, and the way he freezes there for a moment too long, like maybe he's getting a hit of the way Nicky smells, too - yeah, that would've done it.

Still, the night carries on. Around them, the crowd of dancers pulses - there's a new song playing, now, squealing horns over a pulsing beat, with a woman singing _I'm feeling sexy_ , echoed by most of the crowd - and Nicky thinks _ja, yeah, yes_ , because somehow that's exactly the feeling that's got him in its grip tonight. He can't understand much of the rest of it, between how she's singing it and the way everybody else can't quite manage to match her, but the music keeps the feeling going, anyway. 

Alex laughs while attempting to copy the way some nearby girls are dancing to the song - and doesn't much succeed, of course. 

With the last two shots inside him, Nicky gives it a try, himself. And that somehow devolves into dirty dancing. Which, yep, does involve Alex grinding his definitely hard dick up on Nicky's arse by the end of it. Or Nicky grinding his arse back against Alex's crotch. Or both. Both is a viable option, for sure.

Not that Alex could know that, since Nicky's shorts are still keeping his secrets - but Nicky knows, and the knowledge is goading him on to do even more foolish things.

***

Nicky's not headed for the same bench he was sitting on the first time he saw Alex. The holiday's almost over, so he should see as much as possible before he goes, or at least that's what he figures. Not that the other guys are making much of an effort on that front, if you don't count 'babes, beaches, and bars'. Nobody else had even gotten up when Nicky slid out of bed and decided to go for a walk. Like, Nicky isn't inherently opposed to any of that, but devoting an entire week to it is...a little much - though he's sure they'd say the same about his plans for Ibiza.

So, of course he does see Alex. Who, when he spots Nicky, gets this look on his face like he somehow didn't expect Nicky to exist outside the club, to be a person he could just run into anywhere in the city. Nicky kinda wants to be insulted, but if he's honest, if he hadn't already seen Alex on the promenade before meeting him in the club, he'd probably be feeling much the same. But he got his _oh, skiiiit, he's real_ moment over the night before. Back when he didn't know Alex quite as well as he does, now.

Not that he knows anything in particular about him as a person, still - as far as that goes, they're the next best thing to strangers.

Alex has just finished buying ice cream - a cone topped with two scoops, one of caramel shot through with dulce de leche, on top a brown that could be either coffee or chocolate - and he starts eating it before he says anything to Nicky, trying to get ahead of it melting on him. 

So Nicky waits, and thinks about licking things. Like Alex's stomach. And other stuff. And he's genuinely trying not to stare, okay, but between the fact that Alex is wearing another crop top, plus cut off sweatpants that lovingly cup his magnificent arse and cling to his thighs, and the way Alex keeps putting his mouth around bites of the ice cream, and that keeps reminding Nicky all too much of the previous night, it's something of a lost battle. At least his shades make it less obvious that he's not just looking in Alex's general direction?

Eventually Alex does pause long enough to mumble, "Ello," around a mouthful of ice cream, before going right back to devouring it, methodically licking spiraling circles around the cone with skilful swipes of his tongue.

"Hej," Nicky says, with a nod, and settles in to wait some more. Because he doesn't think it's intentional - there's no sign that Alex doesn't just really like ice cream that much - but it's a pretty good show and his dick doesn't much care why Alex is doing it; after last night, it's just easy for the suggestion of what else that mouth could do given the opportunity.

Probably that isn't where his day is going, but it definitely isn't going there if he doesn't stick around.

Alex eats efficiently and enthusiastically, though, so it doesn't take long for him to get down to the point of slurping the last of the coffee-or-chocolate out of the cone, and then finishing that off in two quick bites. And then he's looking at Nicky again, like he's still not quite sure what to make of him, like he can't quite make last night and today fit together. Nicky can't see why. He's just wearing board-shorts and a tank top, sunglasses and slides, like thousands of other guys on holiday. His hair's slightly too long end-of-season hockey flow - is that what makes Alex think he doesn't look like a guy who'd hook up with another guy in a club? 

_What does that look like, anyway?_

Nicky shrugs - he's not suddenly going to look entirely different, no matter how much Alex stares at him, and as far as he's concerned he just looks like an ordinary guy. So, ordinary guy conversation. "What's up?"

"Nada," Alex says. "Zhenya wants to see...delfin? Sasha goes with, make sure not fall in. I say 'no'." He smiles like he's particularly pleased with that decision.

Apparently Alex fancied getting ice cream more than going on a whale-watching trip. Nicky's mate Freddi had wanted to go on one, but none of the others had wanted to give up an entire day to crowding onto a boat with a bunch of people they didn't know. Particularly given the odds of meeting girls out there compared to their usual beach habitat.

But if Alex doesn't have plans for the afternoon - and neither does Nicky - well, maybe they can spend it together, maybe Alex will be up for more. "Drinks?"

After a moment, Alex nods - and while Nicky can't tell if they're actually on the same page about what that means, it's a start. 

They find a bar with the French Open on TV - and Alex finds them a table in front of a bench while Nicky stops to get them drinks (dos cervezas- San Miguel). And then they drink and watch the tennis. They don't have to talk much - though on another day, under other circumstances, Nicky would've floated hockey as a topic. But today they have to just be two guys watching sport together, in a public bar, who don't secretly want to find a private place and maul each other. And Nicky doesn't want Alex to have even the slightest of associations between him and hockey.

Too bad Nicky's electrically aware of Alex, sitting next to him, not quite pressed up against his side, but maybe closer than is completely necessary - so there's nothing for it but to drink, and keep his eyes on the tennis, as much as he's following any of it.

And so 'dos cervezas' turns into 'dos cervezas mas' and 'las dos mas tambien' and so on. The tennis continues - the match that was on when they arrived gives way to the Men's Singles Final. And Nicky doesn't much follow tennis, so all he knows is that it seems to be a lanky Spanish teenager (Nadal) vs a shorter, older guy from Argentina (Puerta). The commentary's all in Spanish, so he's going entirely by the match itself and the scorebox

He can see Nadal is a force to be reckoned with - and some other day he might care - but today he's four, five beers in, and he just wants to stop pretending - and when he turns to look at Alex and finds him looking back, well, looks like there's truth in wine (or beer) after all.

He can't actually guarantee that this won't come back to haunt him somewhere down the line, but with how Alex is Russian and all, whatever they do today probably works as a mutual destruction pact. And that has to be enough; Nicky refuses to not take this chance.

***

It's a different hotel to the one Nicky's staying in, but it's operating the same pack as many holidaying young people in as possible scheme. The room isn't huge, and a double bed plus a set of bunk-beds, a wardrobe, the bureau the TV's on, and a table and chairs over by the window nearly fill it completely. Add in the bags spilling their contents across every bit of open floor, and Nicky fetches up against what's probably the door to the ensuite out of self-defense.

Still, in here, there's no pretense - Alex just closes the door and fumbles the chain into place, crosses to the TV to put it on Eurosport. and turns to Nicky to ask, "Okay?" He's looking at Nicky so intently, again -

Nicky swallows, throat suddenly tight and mouth dry - and says, "Ja - yeah, please." He's already half-, more than half-, hard in his board-shorts, has been for ages, and he's not turning back at this point, not after all that sitting next to Alex, drinking beer and not touching he's just done. 

His blood may be fizzing with alcohol, but, oh, the wanting this came well before that. He wants to peel the cut-off sweatpants down the cut of Alex's hips and the swell of his arse, loose the bulge he's felt (but so far not seen) - find out if he was right about how hot sucking Alex's cock would be. He's planning to find out everything he can, as soon as Alex gets over to him. But as soon as Alex starts moving, it's obvious what's going to happen - Nicky can see it coming, easy, like reading a play on the ice - Alex is so heads-up focused on closing the distance between them to notice, well, anything else.

So when Alex stumbles tipsily over a rucked up ridge of discarded clothing and shoes, flails his arms out trying to stay upright while hopping like he's trying to avoid a patch of bad ice - well, Nicky can't help it when he bursts into a fit of drunken giggles that ends with him sliding down the door to subside quietly giggling on the floor.

Alex is looking down at him affrontedly, like he was expecting Nicky to pretend ha didn't just see that - but why? How could he expect Nicky to not find that funny? Particularly the part where it ended with Alex almost but not quite landing dick-first in Nicky's face. Does he not find things to laugh at during sex, usually?

Still, the important bit is that the relevant parts of their anatomy - for Nicky's purposes, anyway - are much more usefully arranged now, what with how Alex has stumbled to a stop braced against the ensuite door amd that's left his crotch right where Nicky wants it.

Nicky spends a moment staring, and then he just goes for it, shuffles up onto his knees and buries his nose in Alex's crotch, nuzzling the bulge of Alex's definitely into it cock amd surrounding himself with the musky scent of Alex's arousal. _Skiiiiiittt._ He could probably get off just doing that at this point, particularly with one of Alex's big hands cupping the back of Nicky's head, holding him in place.

Still, he wants Alex's cock in his mouth, and if Alex isn't going to let him up to get the shorts out of the way, well, he guesses he gets to improvise the play on the fly - and the way his mouth is watering, thinking about it, that isn't going to be a problem, at all. 

It's easier than he would've thought, licking and sucking at the hard ridge of flesh through the stretchy material - and getting it clinging to Alex's cock enough that Nicky can get his mouth around it properly. He can't get much of it into his mouth that way, of course - the fabric doesn't stretch that much - but there's something unexpectedly hot about only being able to take the fabric-sheathed tip, about the way the wet fabric clings obscenely. He still wants to feel the actual skin of it, to try to take as much as he can without choking, but -

\- but if the bitten-off noises Alex is making are anything to go by, they're not going to get there, this time, either of them.

Nicky's not even managed to get a hand on himself - his hands are occupied with handfuls of Alex's magnificent arse - but he's set to go off at just the thought of getting Alex off; if there'd been any question of whether he was going to be into this, well, there really isn't now. No, the longer he spends with Alex's cock in his mouth, the more his mouth waters, the more he wants to see how much further down he can go. And the way Alex alternates petting at Nicky's hair and pressing his face into Alex's crotch, that's doing it for him, too. Thinking about the way he'll feel Alex's come soaking into - and through - the fabric is just...yeah. The only thing that would make it better, really, would be seeing Alex's face. But the angle's all wrong for that - and anyway, it's not going to be long now, he doesn't think; he knows the way his cock jerks a bit right before he tips over the edge, and it seems Alex might be the same.

And, yeah, there's Alex mashing Nicky's face as tightly against his junk as he can, saying, "Nicky," like his name is a prayer or a magic spell or a curse - and the flood of warmth Nicky was expecting, dampening the fabric even more from the inside, but sealing most of the taste and scent of it away.

So when Alex finally eases up - after Nicky's left his own shorts sticky with come - Nicky wastes no time in finally doing what he's wanted to do all day. He tugs the waistband of Alex's cut-off sweats away from his body in the front with one hand, and then he peels the damp fabric down, and down, and down. As soon as Alex's limp cock springs free, he's darting in there, licking gently at the head, along the shaft, all the way down to Alex's balls. He's never tasted jizz before - never thought to try his own - but once he's had a taste he wants more. He wants to clean every last drop of it off Alex, and bathe in the sex-smell left by making Alex come in his pants. Alex lets him, locking his knees to keep himself upright and making these little noises that make Nicky think he's a bit sensitive after, but he doesn't mind Nicky pushing it.

Time stretches out a bit, then, as Nicky loses himself to cleaning Alex up - until Alex's cock starts filling again, swelling beneath Nicky's mouth, and he realises his has started to do the same.

Probably it hasn't actually been that long - a few minutes at most - and Alex doesn't seem to be showing any signs of strain from holding himself up while Nicky went at it, but when Nicky pulls back for a moment, Alex still folds himself down to the floor in front of Nicky, saying "Nicky Nicky Nicky," as he tugs the neck of Nicky's tank-top down and makes a love-bite bloom dark red-purple just below Nicky's collarbone. Not exactly the one Nicky had imagined the night before, but likely safer.

Then he's tugging at Nicky's top and saying, "Off."

So Nicky shucks it, because he wouldn't mind being more naked - he's not got any modesty left to speak of after years in hockey locker rooms - and when he looks up, Alex has done the same, and is starting to wriggle out of his wrecked shorts. Nicky doesn't have clean ones to change into after, but, well, if that's the price of admission today, he can certainly think of worse deals.

And, yep, once he can see the whole package naked, Alex is definitely everything Nicky had thought he'd be, back on the promenade the previous afternoon.

"#1," Alex says, still grinning a little sloppily, and pressing one massive hand to his chest. "Bed for me."

Which Nicky guesses is an invitation - and also a confirmation that they don't have to keep having sex in the middle of all the stuff on the floor. And that this isn't quite over. It has to end soon; Alex's friends won't be gone forever. But Nicky might get to have a little bit more, take home a few more memories for the future where this can never happen again. Where that will have to, once again, be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Club soundtrack includes:
> 
> Enrique Iglesias - Bailamos  
> Beyonce - Naughty Girl
> 
> Puerta (who ended up losing to Nadal in the 2005 Men's Singles Final) caught my attention because he'd just come back to professional tennis after being suspended for two years (later reduced to nine months) for doping, where the doping in question was taking doctor-prescribed steroids for asthma (and which had no performance-enhancing effect beyond allowing him to breathe normally, thus the reduction in suspension) - and that struck me as an interesting parallel to Nicky's later adventures in getting caught 'doping', i.e. taking his prescription allergy meds, at the 2014 Olympics. Not that Nicky had a chance to learn this in the course of the fic, what with the whole not speaking a lot of Spanish thing.
> 
> 'Skit' is Swedish for 'shit'; 'delfin' is dolphin in both Swedish and Russian. This whole fic was an exercise in piecing together dialogue in multiple languages neither of them spoke well.


End file.
